Tales of a Whimsical Wanderer

June 1, 2017 The wanderer's backyard I try to keep my garden of optimism neat, but pesky pessimistic weeds make it a grueling feat. The vines they come a-creeping ere my hands have left the ground, smothering my flowers every time I turn around. I plant new seeds and watch them as they wither and decay; I prune my plants with care and sigh as each leaf falls away. I dig and dig but ne'ertheless the weeds invade once more, till eventually I fear I'll be consumed by this wretched chore. And then one day a bird alights beside me in my garden: it pecks and plucks the rotten weeds and my flowers bloom again. In other news, Phillop the lopsided willow has almost reached the ground, and the chipmunks are merrily larking about as usual. Life prevails, weeds or no.

May 20, 2017 Estell Manor Park  Out fly the fairies in the night, and in their groups, away they troop to make merry beneath the pale moonlight. They zoom and zip past shrub and tree, and through the fog, they spy a bog, which they splash right into with utter glee. And straightaway the games begin: splishing, splashing, kicking, thrashing, the fairies laugh and share many a grin. They play around like wild otters, but after a while, out they file, leaving fairy dust clouding the water!